


Deep Into the Mountain Sound

by buckysbears (DrZebra)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jemma with powers, Post-Maveth AU, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, but its all just leading to sappy gay shit so stick with me yeah?, it's a lot of healing, just. just trust me, look this starts off a bit dark and gets darker, which will eventually lead to them being gay mountain people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 08:15:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10330199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrZebra/pseuds/buckysbears
Summary: Jemma comes back, and she's different. She's changed. She just got back to this planet, and her world is being shaken again - this time by new powers. Suddenly her internal turmoil isn't just internal. She's not sure what to do, how to cope.But Daisy helps.





	

**Author's Note:**

> anon wanted to see Daisy helping Jemma with her newfound powers after coming out of the monolith   
> and booooooooooy howdy did this get out of hand !!!!! my longest one shot ever!! by over double! wow!! 
> 
> also shout out to [sun](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9500345) for being awesome and inspiring one of the scenes in this fic, you'll see which one 
> 
> title from mountain sound, the anthem of this fic 
> 
> warnings for ptsd stuff like panic attacks, guilt, and dissociation

So, she’d run.

Jemma had been doing a lot of running lately. (On the planet, it had been a necessity. You sleep, and when you’re not sleeping, you run. You run, or you get too comfortable. You run, or you get negligent. You run, or the monsters catch up. You run, or you die. So, she’d done it anyway, but it hadn’t exactly been her idea—the running. And it wasn’t this time, either.)

Dr. Garner had suggested the ‘getaway’, as he called it. After living in isolation for so long, the crowded base, with all its noise, and hovering (well-meaning, she corrects herself) people, was too overwhelming for her. She’d tried, she’d given it an honest shot. But it wasn’t the right environment for her, not anymore. He thought that it would be easier for her body, and her mind, to acclimate back to this world if she could do so somewhere secluded, where there weren’t too many people, too many distractions. Slowly, she’d immerse herself back in the world, in her own time. So Coulson, only somewhat grudgingly, had offered up a cabin, a SHIELD safe-house, for her to use ‘until she was ready to come back home’.

(The team hadn’t been happy. Least of all Fitz, who’d rallied to go with her, having just gotten her back and not wanting to let her out of his sight just yet. If Coulson wouldn’t let him go, he’d said, he’d quit, and go anyway.

It was only a (very) firm word from Dr. Garner that made him stay. He wasn’t what she needed right now, Dr. Garner told him. She needed someone who could give her space, who wasn’t expecting anything from her. Most importantly, someone who she wouldn’t feel the need to perform for.

Fitz reluctantly agreed that he didn’t fit the bill. That he, just this once, wasn’t what she needed. She’d put too much pressure on herself, in his presence. If anyone could understand that, it was him. So he’d stayed behind, on the promise that she would call him whenever she had the urge, and that he could visit, if she wanted him.

But she shouldn’t be alone, Dr. Garner said.

So Skye had volunteered to go with her. At least for the first little while, to get her settled, to keep track of how she was adjusting and send updates to Dr. Garner. She might have to leave to go on missions, that was part of the agreement, but she’d be living in the cabin with Jemma for the foreseeable future.)

Skye.

Jemma glances over at her in the driver’s seat, watching her tap her fingers on the wheel to the beat of the song that’s playing quietly over the radio, and then looks back to her window before Skye has the chance to notice. The trees, lush and green in the spring warmth, roar past them. Skye is maybe driving a little too fast, but it’s not like they’ll come across any other cars. They’re far up in the mountains, and the cabin they’re making their way to is the only one around for miles. Besides that, it’s just forest, which hugs the sides of the road, only allowing the sun to grace the asphalt in wavering patches.

They hadn’t been informed exactly where they are, but judging from the flora, and the climate, and how long the flight had been, Jemma guesses somewhere in the Great Smoky Mountains. North Carolina, maybe, or Tennessee. She’d feel better if she knew exactly where they were (she’d spent long enough having no idea where she was, and she didn’t care for it), but it had been classified. It’s whatever, she’ll probably figure it out soon enough. If only she had access to a geography book, maybe a guide to the local fauna.

(Dr. Garner had told her to focus on herself, not distractions. Focus on how she’s feeling, what she’s thinking. Mindfulness, he’d called it. But she just—she can’t. She can’t stand living in her own head all the time. All she’d had on that planet was herself, and truth be told, she’d gotten sick of the company.)

Skye yawns, and Jemma risks another glance. Something gnaws at her gut: guilt. She knows it intimately, a closer friend to her than anything else has been over the years.

Had Skye only come because she felt guilty? Jemma knows that she, along with most of the team, had given up hope of ever getting Jemma back. They’d stopped trying to find her. (Jemma doesn’t blame them, it had been a long time. She might’ve done the same, if she’d been in their position.) Was that why Skye came? Trying to make up for something.

Dr. Garner told her it’s okay to be a burden, sometimes. It’s okay to let other people help carry her weight, if she can’t carry it herself.

(Jemma doesn’t believe that.)

She doesn’t want Skye to have to carry it for her, any of it. Skye isn’t her pack mule. She’s a friend. A friend who is probably only here because of her own guilt, her own emotional baggage. God, Jemma’s just going to make it worse, probably. Skye is here out of obligation (what if Dr. Garner had talked her into it? What if she hadn’t wanted to come at all?) and now she’s going to have to deal with all of Jemma’s triggers and her trauma responses and the emotional sack of shit that she’s turned into lately. Skye shouldn’t have to handle all that. It’s not fair to her, not in the least.

Fuck. Jemma’s horrible, isn’t she, for agreeing to Skye coming along. For letting her do this, for letting anyone come along at all. She should’ve come alone, dealt with this alone. No one should be forced to stand her right now, when she can barely stand herself.

Tears prick in the back of her eyes. Her throat is tightening closed. Skye can’t notice, though, she can’t, or she’ll just be concerned, and guilty, and that will make Jemma more guilty, and she just—she can’t do this. Jemma can’t do this. All of this was a mistake.

Fuck fuck _fuck._

Suddenly, there’s a loud _thud_ , and Skye curses, slamming on the breaks. Jemma catches herself against the dash, heart beating, jarred away from her thoughts.

A tree has fallen into the road, right in front of them, just as they were about to drive past it. It looks rotten. Decayed. Bark black and oozing, caving in on itself. It’s a wonder that it hadn’t fallen down long ago. Jemma thinks how unlucky it was that it fell just as they were driving by (has a fleeting, silly thought that it’s an omen of some kind) and then notices that the surrounding trees in the area all look like they’re in a state of decay as well. Just in this one spot.

“Freaky,” Skye says, and Jemma gives a noncommittal hum.

(Later, she’ll label this ‘incident number one’.)

-

“Is that everything?” Skye asks, emerging from what will be her room sans suitcase.

Jemma sets the last box on the kitchen table, nodding.

Skye props her hands on her hips, looking around. “Well, it’s not a bad place, I’ll give it that much. Gonna need a lot of cleaning, though, if we don’t want to be sneezing dust all the time.”

“Skye …”

Skye starts, looking at her. It’s the first time Jemma’s spoken since they left base, and Skye is obviously surprised. And then she surprises Jemma, by giving a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Um, it’s actually … it’s Daisy, now,” she reminds her.

Jemma’s eyes shut, brows furrowing. It’s Daisy now. She keeps forgetting. Everything Sk- Daisy is doing for her, all she’s giving up, and Jemma can’t even remember something as big as her name. She’s been so focused on her own turmoil that she can’t even give Daisy that.

A coil of self-disgust slithers through her chest.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Daisy tells her, shuffling forward. “You can call me whatever you want. Honest.” 

Jemma shakes her head, blinking her eyes open, trying to blink away the tears that have gathered there. “Sorry,” she rasps.

“It’s okay,” Daisy tells her again. “Nothing to feel bad for. It’s a big change, it takes some time to get used to, I get it.”

Jemma looks away. Looks at their things sitting on the table, surrounding a vase of wilted flowers. The flowers are old, dried up. One of the petals crumples and falls as she watches.

Daisy follows her gaze. “Weren’t those—” She steps over to the table, picking up the vase, inspecting it. “I could’ve sworn there were fresh flowers in here.”

She goes to throw them out, and Jemma turns and leaves, makes her way back to her new bedroom and curls up in the middle of the bed, closing her eyes.

(That’s incident number two.)

-

“Why’d you come?”

It’s the first thing Jemma’s said that day, and her voice comes out rough. Daisy had tried talking to her over breakfast, but Jemma hadn’t responded. She felt bad for it, but she spent so long without conversation that even the task of stringing together a sentence in response to a question seemed too complicated, too much. It’s not that she’s forgotten how to talk, it’s just that her brain only likes to do it internally. It’ll ramble on about this and that when she’s not paying attention, but put her in front of another person, with the expectation that she needs to respond (and in a certain way, no less)? She freezes up.

Luckily, Daisy doesn’t make a big deal about it. Over breakfast she’d just talked about whatever came to her mind, filling in the gaps in conversation herself. And now, at Jemma’s question, she just shoots a glance over her shoulder, then goes back to cleaning.

“What?”

“Why—” Jemma clears her throat. She’s grown to hate the sound of her own voice, the only voice she had for six months. “Why did you come with me?”

“Dr. Garner said you shouldn’t be by yourself right now, and I happen to agree,” Daisy says. There are piles of books surrounding her on the floor, and she stands on a chair so she can reach and wipe down the high shelves of the bookcase. “You know that.”

“Yes, but—” Then Jemma is quiet for a long time, thinking of how to phrase the question. Daisy doesn’t seem to mind. “You volunteered,” she settles on, not sure if it gets across what she’s meaning. She shifts upward on the couch, no longer wanting to lay down. She’d tried helping Daisy clean, had scrubbed the floors and wiped down the kitchen, but Daisy had caught her wavering and made her lie down. She’d done a lot of exercising on the planet, but- Malnutrition. She isn’t up to full strength yet. She needs rest and good food, all the doctors had said.

“You mean why did I come, instead of somebody else?”

Daisy turns back to her, and Jemma nods.

“I’m still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that you’re not dead, I guess. Didn’t really believe it at first when the monolith spit you back out. Figured it’d all be easier if I got to see you every day. And, honestly? I just missed you. I wanted to be with you.”

Jemma looks away, down at her hands. “I’m not the same anymore.”

“Well, that’s okay,” Daisy tells her, and shrugs when Jemma looks back up. “It’s not like I don’t know what it’s like to come out of an experience changed. Sometimes shit happens, and you’re different. There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m not gonna hold you to the person you used to be. And I won’t love you any less if you’re not that person anymore.”

Jemma doesn’t know how to respond, so she doesn’t, and after a few seconds Daisy goes back to cleaning. Jemma wrings her hands, watching Daisy’s back, and eventually stands.

“I’m going to take a walk.”

Daisy sets down the rag, turning to face her. “Are you sure you don’t need to keep resting?”

“The smell- The cleaning chemicals, it’s- uh—” She waves halfheartedly toward her stomach. She didn’t really say it, so it’s not really a lie.

“Making you nauseous? Okay, maybe some fresh air would be good. Do you want me to come with you?”

Jemma shakes her head.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, well- Don’t wander too far, we don’t know the trails yet, I don’t want you getting lost.”

If there’s one thing Jemma learned on the planet, it was how to follow a trail, but she doesn’t say that, just gives a tight smile, and leaves Daisy alone in the cabin. The sun is high in the sky, just after noon, and Jemma thinks it’s probably getting to be time for lunch. Not that her body remembers how to tell her when it’s hungry, anymore. It gave up on that a while back.

She circles around to the back of the cabin and starts on the cleared trail that leads up into the woods, higher up the mountain. It’s not a steep hike, but there’s an incline. Jemma’s legs start burning after only a few minutes, but she pushes onwards, deeper into the woods.

It’s easy to fall back into a certain line of thinking when she’s out and alone like this. It’s a certain kind of solitude. Like the only thing in the world that’s really real is herself. Maybe going off by herself wasn’t the best idea, but Jemma doesn’t really care. And anyway, there are enough things that are different here that it barely even reminds her of the other planet. There’s the sun, the coniferous trees, the chirping of birds. She shouldn’t have a problem.

(That’s what she thinks, anyway.)

And then there’s the sharp _crack_ of a twig breaking behind her, and on instinct, Jemma takes off in a dead sprint. She doesn’t look behind her, because that would slow her down and throw off her balance, she just runs, feet pounding in the dirt, heart racing, air pinching in her lungs with each frenzied breath.

(She runs, and her mind comes up with lies. The thing is, she knows they’re lies, but she also can’t help but believe them. Her mind says, _it’s the monsters from the planet_ , and Jemma knows it’s not true, but she agrees anyway. Her mind says, _they’re angry you escaped, they’re here to finish you off_ , and Jemma knows it’s ridiculous, knows it’s impossible, but she runs from the monsters all the same.)

Distantly, as if from underwater, she hears her name, but she doesn’t even register it. Just keeps running, and then scrambles into the woods for better cover, because she knows these things are faster than her, but wider. She might have the advantage if she can find a tight enough squeeze. She pushes through the undergrowth, scurries between trees. Her arms get scratched and bleed, but she’ll deal with that later, will cover the scent once she can find somewhere to hide.

A root is what trips her up. Her shoe gets caught, and then she’s sprawled out on the forest floor, hands bloody and covered in dirt, face pushed into the ground. She flails until her foot is free, then curls into a tight ball, covering her head. She lost her advantage—the monsters will be here any second. No use running anymore.

She doesn’t cry, waiting for death to take her, doesn’t make a sound. Not until the claw is touching her shoulder. Then she kicks out, strikes with her hands, screams, sobs, anything she can to keep the beast away.

“Jemma!” she hears, and then an “ _oof_ ” as she strikes something solid.

That makes her open her eyes. Though her vision is blurred with tears, she can see it’s just Daisy, crouched in front of her, panic on her face.

It’s just Daisy. Not a monster; Daisy. Of course it’s Daisy. God, how could she have been so _stupid_?

She curls in on herself, a string of sobs escaping her, digging her fingernails into her scalp. Her heart is still beating erratically, a panicked bird trying to escape her chest. She was such an idiot. She should’ve known it was just Daisy, who’d probably followed her, and not a monster _from a different fucking planet_. How would it have gotten here, anyway? How would it have found her? She should’ve known. Her fingers dig harder into her head. Stupid, stupid, _stupid …_  

“ _Hey_ ,” Daisy barks, voice fearful. “Jemma … Jemma, stop, hey, Jemma _look!”_

She grabs her arm, and Jemma startles at the contact, her eyes flying open. Daisy’s gaze is drawn fully upward, and Jemma follows it, until she sees. The trees. All around them: bending, melting, bark oozing dark, shapeless matter.

(This is incident number three.)

“Are you doing that?” Daisy asks, breathless. “Jem, is that you? You’ve gotta stop.”

“I- I don’t—” She shakes her head, trying to pull away, scurry back from the sight. “I don’t know.”

Just then, one of the trees falls, heading right toward them, and Daisy stands, holding a hand out, aims a blast right at the falling trunk and sends it crashing further into the woods. She sends out another blast, and all the trees around them fall away, bowing and breaking so they’re splayed in a circle around them, the two of them in the middle of the ring. Daisy crouches back down before her.

“Jemma, I need you to take a breath, okay? I need you to breathe for me.”

Jemma can’t, can barely hear her over her harsh sobs, over her choked mantra of “oh god oh god _oh god_ ”.

The decay is spreading, leaking out into the surrounding forest. Even the ground beneath them is sticky and blackened.

“You’re not there anymore, Jem,” Daisy tells her, aiming for a soothing tone, though it’s strained. “You’re not there anymore, you’re here, on Earth, and there’s nothing that can hurt you here. Nothing’s gonna try, and if it did, I’m here to protect you. You’re safe. You’re okay, and you’re safe.”

Jemma shakes her head, even though she knows it’s true. She doesn’t know why she does it, she’s just upset, stomach rolling, and she’s still sobbing—harsh, frantic sobs—and- oh god. The bile rises in her throat, and she flips around, heaving painfully until her breakfast is all over the forest floor.

“Oh, Jem,” Daisy murmurs, resting her hand on Jemma’s shoulder as she pants for breath.

Jemma spits and then scoots back from the mess, trying to even her breathing, her stomach somewhat settled now, looking up at what is an uninterrupted view of the sky, now that the trees are cleared. If she looks up, up at the steady blue, the crisp lines of white clouds, she can pretend everything is fine. That everything isn’t crumbling (melting?) apart beneath her hands.

Daisy moves so she’s sitting next to her, watching Jemma carefully. She doesn’t speak, which Jemma is grateful for, just sits and watches Jemma as Jemma watches the sky. Until, eventually, her energy drained, Jemma collapses against her, resting her head on Daisy’s shoulder, lifting one shaky hand to clutch the front of Daisy’s shirt. Daisy clings back like she’s been waiting for the opportunity, one hand coming up to smooth through Jemma’s hair. She presses a kiss to the top of Jemma’s head, whispering, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

At least the decay has stopped spreading. The forest is eerily quiet; they must have scared off all the birds for miles. Jemma wonders if any nests were casualties in the destruction. “I don’t think I am.”

“You’re safe,” Daisy corrects. “Nothing here is going to hurt you.”

“I don’t think that’s the problem anymore.”

“Well, whatever this is, we’ll figure it out. Okay? We’ll deal with it.”

Jemma just sighs, burrowing closer, and Daisy pulls her into a tighter hug.

(She’s not okay. She’s not okay and now it’s affecting everything around her, and isn’t that what she’s always feared? Her worst nightmare, that the pain isn’t just trapped in herself anymore.)

Eventually, they get up, picking their way through the maze of fallen logs to make it back to the trail. Daisy practically has to carry Jemma, who’s wilted, her legs shaking, her body not wanting to stay upright. She feels so so dreadfully empty, like she doesn’t even have organs anymore, no heart pumping her blood to keep her moving.

It takes them a while, but they make it back to the cabin. Daisy leads Jemma into her room, gently pushes her down onto the bed. They lay front to front, their foreheads pressed together, hands tangled together between them. (Jemma doesn’t know when she’s started crying again, but she has.) She’s getting dirt all over Daisy’s comforter, and probably blood from her scratched up arms, but Daisy doesn’t say anything about it.

After a while, Daisy says, “I think we need to call Dr. Garner.”

“Yeah,” Jemma agrees quietly. “Can we- Can we call Fitz, too? I want to talk to him.”

“Of course.”

“Can I sleep first?”

“Whatever you want.”

Jemma sniffles, pushes closer, Daisy’s breath ghosting along her lips. It doesn’t take her long to fall asleep.

-

“Have you been back outside yet?”

The laptop speakers aren’t bad, but Fitz’s voice still sounds different than it should. Between that and the flat screen, Jemma feels at a level removed from him that she doesn’t care for. She agrees with Dr. Garner that Daisy was the best choice to come with her, but she still misses Fitz dearly. But, it’s a feeling she’s gotten used to, over the years.

“No,” she tells him. It’s been a few days since ‘incident number three’, and she’s barely left her room in that time. Daisy makes her come out for meals, and comes in to check on her every few hours, but for the most part she’s given Jemma her space. Jemma’s talked to Fitz every day, and has had two sessions with Dr. Garner over the video chat.

Fitz scratches his chin, thinking. “I mean, I think it’s just gonna be harder the longer you put it off.”

“You didn’t see it, Fitz.” She sighs, rubs at her forehead. “It was death itself, and I was causing it.”

“You told me.” His lips twist. “I just- Avoiding it isn’t helping. It’s not gonna make you feel better, or- or safer, or anything like that. I’m not saying you have to confront it or anything aggressive, just- Trying to hide away a part of yourself never works. You need to learn to work with it, not against it.”

“All it is is destruction, Fitz,” Jemma snaps. “It’s just destruction. Why would I want to embrace that?”

“So was Daisy’s, when she first got her powers,” he argues. “She was destroying things, hurting herself. Now she’s a superhero.”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “It’s not the same, Fitz.”

“It might be. Have you … Have you been talking to her about it?”

“No. I haven’t been talking much at all.”

“Well, you should talk to her. She’s actually been through this. She can help.”

It’s then that there’s a knock on the door, and Daisy peeks her head in. “Hey, when you’re done with your conversation, can I talk to you about something?”

Jemma tries to smile, but she can already feel the anxiety wriggle into her gut. “Sure,” she says.

“Cool. Hey, Fitz.”

“Hi, Daisy.”

Daisy gives a little salute, and then backs out of the room, closing the door behind her.

“Speak of the devil,” Fitz says, grinning. And then, “How are your sessions with Dr. Garner going?”

“Fine.”

“Jemma.”

She tries not to roll her eyes again. “He says I need to open up more, if we’re going to make any progress.”

“Well—” He nods toward the door. “Here’s your opportunity.”

“Ugh,” she says softly.

“Look- Bottling everything up, repressing all your feelings, it doesn’t work. You’re not gonna get out of this cycle unless you do something about them. It’s like May’s always saying, you need to embrace your emotions, use them on your terms.”

“How is May?” she asks, grabbing for a distraction. “Is she back yet?”

“Yeah, she’s back. Sends her love.”

“She didn’t say that.”

“Well … you could tell.”

He smiles, and she huffs.

“Go talk to Daisy. If you need to call me again afterwards, I’ll be here.”

“Okay,” she says, slightly pacified.

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

The screen freezes on Fitz’s wave, and then goes black.

For a few minutes she just sits in her room, at the little wooden desk, staring at the blank screen, trying to work herself up, maybe, for the upcoming conversation. Except that she doesn’t do much working up, doesn’t even really think about anything, just stares. Stares, and breathes, and feels nothing at all.

A noise from the living room jars her, and she quickly pulls herself out of the chair and makes her way out into the main room. Daisy is hovering nervously by the couch, and jumps to attention when Jemma enters.

“Okay, so,” Daisy starts, wringing her hands. “Dr. Garner says you need to talk through some stuff, right? So I figured we could do that, except I got these—” She picks up a vase that’s sitting on the coffee table. The vase is filled with branches, clumps of leaves and orange flowers clinging to the ends. She’s obviously pulled them from the camellia bushes at the front of the cabin. “-so that, if they start to wilt, we know it’s getting to be too much for you, and we can stop.” She sets the vase down, and then looks at Jemma, bottom lip pulling between her teeth. “Does that sound okay?”

Jemma thinks about it, brows furrowing. “If it starts to happen, we can stop?”

“Or any time before that, if you don’t want to keep going.”

Jemma blows out a shaky breath, nodding. “I’ll try.”

“Seriously, the second you want to stop—” Daisy moves her hands in a slicing motion. “Done.”

“Okay.”

Daisy sits on one end of the couch, and Jemma takes a seat on the other, facing her, pulling her legs up to her chest so she can wrap her arms around them.

“I’m not sure where to begin,” she says.

Daisy props one arm up on the back of the couch so she can lean her head on her hand. “In the woods. When … When it was happening. What were you thinking about?” Then she shifts her gaze to the flowers, and Jemma is glad the attention isn’t on her.

“It-It’ll sound silly.”

Daisy’s eyes flick back to her. “I’m not gonna judge,” she says. “No matter what you tell me, my opinion of you isn’t going to change at all.”

“What if it does?”

“I think you’re amazing, Jemma. Nothing you say is going to change that.”

She sounds honest enough, looks like she means it, so Jemma tries to take it to heart, though it’s hard. She looks away, and Daisy looks back toward the flowers.

“Monsters.”

“What kind of monsters?” Daisy asks, when she doesn’t elaborate. And then, as she still doesn’t speak, adds, “What did they look like? Can you describe them?”

Jemma blows out a breath. The image is clear in her mind. She’d only gotten a good look a few times, only had a few close encounters, but it had been more than enough to sear the image in her mind forever. Talking is still difficult, and she doesn’t particularly care for it, but this—factual information—is a little easier to deal with. “Tall, broad. About double the size of a person. They could walk on two legs, but ran faster on four. They had blueish-grey skin, with thick barbs of hair on their backs. Their faces were kind of droopy, with protruding teeth, like a bulldog.”

“And they hunted you?”

(Jemma can feel it, like velcro being undone, when she starts to separate herself from the conversation. She feels like she’s watching this, now, not quite there, not quite real. Like she’s a few centimeters to the left of her actual body, in a desperate attempt not to relive it.)

Daisy must notice, because she reaches forward and lays a hand on Jemma’s knee.

The contact helps, a little. Jemma’s eyes snap back into focus. “They were intent on eating me, yes.”

“Were there other things on the planet, or just them?”

Jemma is glad they’re moving along quickly, not wanting her mind to latch on to her pursuers and settle there (not wanting her mind to give up and unlatch entirely). “There were others. Smaller things. But the bugbears seemed to be the apex predator.”

“Bugbears?”

“That’s what I called them. I had names for most of the creatures there.”

“Did that help? Naming them?”

“I tried to classify them at first, the flora and the fauna. So that I could come up with some sort of taxonomy when I got back.” She rests her chin on her propped up knees, hiding the lower half of her face behind her arm. “That didn’t last long.”

Daisy watches the flowers, and Jemma watches the side of her face.

“Did you ever stop believing you were going to come back?”

Jemma doesn’t answer, and Daisy’s eyes flicker toward her, then back toward the flowers.

“Sorry,” she says, “we can stop.”

Jemma follows her gaze, and sure enough, the flowers have started to wilt. As she watches, as something bubbles up hot in her chest, the process speeds up, and the flowers grey, droop, melt, and fall onto the table with fat _plops_. (Incident four.) Tears rise to her eyes, and quickly flow down her face. The hand on her leg squeezes.

“We can stop,” Daisy repeats.

Jemma can’t help the choked sob that comes out of her. She doesn’t think she’d be able to continue talking even if she wanted to. Another sob spills out, and she rubs away her tears with the palm of one hand.

Daisy holds her arms out with a half-questioning “come here?” and she probably only means for Jemma to lean up against her, but Jemma crawls over to her and straddles Daisy’s lap, melting against her, chest to chest, hiding her face in Daisy’s neck, desperate for the contact. She cries against Daisy’s neck, and Daisy pulls her closer, arms encircling Jemma’s back.

“You’re back now,” Daisy says, and it sounds like she’s trying to convince herself just as much. “You’re back now, and you’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” Jemma chokes out, between her sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m—”

“Hey,” Daisy says, squeezing her tighter. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, okay?”

Jemma shakes her head, breath catching in her throat. “I-I’m sorry for being like this, I’m sorry for being such a mess, I’m- I’m sorry for needing help all the time.”

“Jemma Simmons,” Daisy says, half scolding, “you’re the strongest person I know. You’re allowed to be a mess sometimes.”

“You know May,” Jemma points out, voice watery.

“And even she breaks down every once in a while.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Well, I’ve never seen it, but it’s probably true.”

Jemma huffs a wet laugh, burrowing closer, soaking up the feeling of Daisy’s heartbeat pounding through her chest, of Daisy’s body warm against hers.

“My point still stands, though,” Daisy says quietly. “You can be strong without being strong all the time.”

“I can’t,” Jemma whispers. “If I bend, I’ll break entirely. Everything about me is too brittle.”

“Then you break,” Daisy says, giving a little shrug that presses into Jemma’s cheek. “You break, and I’ll be here to help pick up the pieces.”

Jemma is quiet for a long time, crying silently, and Daisy rubs her hands up and down Jemma’s back, soothing and rhythmic.

“I can’t let you do that,” Jemma says eventually.

“Help you? Why not?”

“I have to be able to take care of myself.”

“Everyone needs help sometimes,” Daisy tells her. “After I changed? I needed a lot of help. And I got it. I wouldn’t have been able to do it on my own.”

“I-I’ll feel guilty, I can’t put that on you,” Jemma says, the real reason.

(Because that’s what it always comes down to with her, doesn’t it? Guilt. Everything that’s ever happened to her, everything she’s ever done. It comes back to that, in the end.)

“Honestly—” Daisy stops, presses her mouth to Jemma’s shoulder as she thinks. “Honestly,” she continues after a moment, “you trying to hide all this from me, trying to bottle everything up, not letting me help—that’s gonna end up hurting me worse than anything else. Because I care about you, Jemma. So much. I want to be able to help you, more than anything.”

“I- I don’t know how. To- To let you help, I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I’m built for it.”

“Well, you’re a human, and you’ve told me enough times that humans are a social species, which means we help each other out, so, yes, you are built for it. And you start by not hiding yourself away all the time. When you’re feeling bad, you come to me, and you talk about it. We’ll go from there.”

Jemma lets out a shaky sigh, pushing her face against Daisy’s neck. “Sounds scary.”

“I know it does. But it’ll get easier, the more you practice. And then one day it won’t be scary at all, and you’ll realize you even feel better for it.”

“Do we have to start today?”

“No, I think you’ve done enough for today. We can start tomorrow. Let’s just … sit here, for a little while.”

“Okay,” Jemma says, relieved.

“I’m really proud of you, by the way,” Daisy says, squeezing her tighter. “You talked about it even though it was scary, even though you didn’t want to. That’s really brave.”

“It’s just talking,” Jemma mumbles. “It shouldn’t be a big deal. It shouldn’t be so hard for me.”

“It is a big deal, though. Talking can be really scary, talking can be one of the hardest things there is.”

Jemma doesn’t want to argue, so she just says “thanks” and nuzzles against Daisy, pressing closer, her hands clenching in Daisy’s shirt.

Daisy rests her cheek on Jemma’s head, and holds her like she has no plans of letting go.

(Jemma hopes she never does. This is … nice, despite everything. Nice in a way she’s not quite sure how to describe. So she doesn’t try. Just enjoys the feeling of Daisy’s warmth, the softness of Daisy’s skin, the smell of her shampoo, and lets herself drift, thoughtless, weightless, but still grounded to this reality by the contact, by the way Daisy envelops her. She lets herself be held, and she’s content.)

(She doesn’t wonder what about this feels so right.)

-

Jemma curls around her mug, the warmth seeping into her palms through the porcelain. Tea had been on her list of ‘things most missed about Earth’ while she was gone. It had always embodied comfort to her, reminded her of home, made her feel like things were going to be okay. It’s become a habit now for her and Daisy to have tea while Jemma talks through things about the planet, just one little thing to make the talking easier.

It’s been a few days, and it’s not easy—the talking. They’re still employing what Daisy calls ‘the flower test’. If the flowers start to wilt, they stop. It’s been working well enough. Jemma hasn’t had any breakdowns since they started. And Daisy doesn’t mind that Jemma is generally quiet, besides these talks.

“I think I’d like to go outside today,” Jemma says, face half hidden behind her mug.

“What did Dr. Garner say about it?”

“He thinks it’ll be good. Says that the point of this is to reintroduce myself to the world, not separate myself from it.”

“Okay,” Daisy says easily. “I’m gonna come with you.”

Jemma nods. “I’d like you to. I don’t think going by myself was the smartest idea.”

Daisy shrugs. “You’re still discovering your limits, that’s okay.”

“I think there’s a swath of forest that wishes I hadn’t discovered that particular limit.”

“No, no, the forest and I totally had a chat, and it forgives you.”

Jemma chuckles, the sound reverberating around her mug. “I didn’t know talking to trees was a part of your Inhuman powers.”

Daisy scoffs. “That’s like, the main part. Gotta keep up, Jemma.”

Jemma grins, eyes rolling. “Right, yes, sorry I’m so behind. Although, in my defense, I was absent for a stretch of time there. Probably missed some things.”

Daisy’s mouth twists as she thinks, then she lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll allow it.” She sets her mug down on the coffee table, and pushes Jemma’s feet with her own where they’re laying over each other on the couch. (These casual touches—it’s something Jemma’s okay with getting used to.) “So, when we’re out there, what should we watch out for?”

Jemma sets her mug down as well. “Well … I’m not sure, exactly.”

“What spooked you last time?”

Jemma looks down, down to her wringing hands. “A branch snapped. I thought one of the bugbears had found me. I just ran on instinct.”

“So, sudden noises? I’m not sure we’ll be able to avoid those. There are some animals in the area.”

“No, I suppose not.” Jemma bites her lip, glancing back up. “It’ll probably be better with you there, though. To remind me I’m still on Earth.”

“And that nothing is going to hurt you here.”

“Right.”

“Can you think of anything else that might do it?”

Jemma thinks, her head coming to rest on the back of the couch. “If it’s too cloudy, and I can’t see the sun, I might … But I checked outside, there’s not a cloud in the sky today.”

“Okay, so that’s something we don’t have to deal with just yet.”

“Yeah.” Jemma scratches one short nail against the fabric of the couch. “Just … don’t leave me alone?”

Daisy nudges her leg with a sock-clad foot. “I’ll be right beside you the whole time. Promise.”

Jemma doesn’t look up at her. “Thanks,” she murmurs.

“Do you want to go now?”

Jemma’s eyes flick to the window. It’s just after lunch, and the sun is shining bright. It’ll be warm enough to go out without jackets. “Suppose now is as good a time as any.”

They rinse their mugs, put on their boots, and then Daisy is opening the front door, stepping out onto the porch. She takes in a deep breath of air, then turns around when Jemma doesn’t follow her.

Daisy watches her, frozen in the doorway. “You okay, Jem? You know, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. We’ll go at your pace.”

“I- I do want to, I just—” She shakes her head, one hand fluttering up to press against her neck. “What if I destroy things again?”

“Well … we are out in the middle of nowhere, so it’s not like anyone will care. But, if you do—” Daisy reaches out and slips her fingers through Jemma’s own. “We’ll deal with it, just like we would anything else. Together.”

“Together,” Jemma breathes, nodding.

(She’s not alone anymore. She’d been so desperately, achingly alone for so long that sometimes it’s hard to remember it’s not a permanent state of being. That she can be a part of a ‘ _we’_ again. In days past, her brain had defaulted to counting herself as part of a unit. Now … it seems like it’s her against the world (any world). She tries to remember that that isn’t the way of things, anymore. That she’s back, and there are people by her side.)

Daisy smiles, and gives her hand a little tug.

Jemma steps out onto the porch, and then blinks, eyes adjusting to the bright sunshine. The air is crisp, but it’s warm enough once they step into the sun, hands swinging between them. They make their way to the trail, and start the climb deeper into the mountains. There are birds chirping, and Daisy’s hand is warm in hers, and it’s not so bad.

(It’s not so bad. She can do this. Right? Right.)

After about fifteen minutes Jemma pulls to a stop, leaning against a tree to catch her breath, her legs burning.

“You alright?” Daisy asks. “Anytime you want to go back, just say the word.”

Jemma shakes her head. “I’m fine. Let’s keep going, I just- just needed to stop for a second.”

They push onwards, past the point where Jemma had fled into the woods on her last outing (luckily the damage isn’t visible from the trail). The trail twists up inclines, and though Jemma is tired, she enjoys the walk. She can’t fall prey to solitude with Daisy beside her, and the bright sun keeps the memories at bay.

They walk for about five more minutes before Daisy is the one stopping.

“What is it?” Jemma asks.

Daisy holds her hand parallel to the ground, and Jemma feels everything vibrate, just a little. Then Daisy is pulling her into the trees with an excited “come on!”.

Jemma is about to ask what’s going on, almost tripping over her own feet to keep up with Daisy as she pushes through the trunks, but then she sees it. The clearing. About an acre in size, gently slopped, a rolling field of lush, green grass. It’s surrounded by forest on three sides, and on the other, a drop, with a view of the mountains around them.

Jemma stops, her hand dropping from Daisy’s, her breath leaving her chest. It’s … beautiful. Idyllic. The kind of sight she never thought she’d see again.

Daisy laughs, running out toward the center of the clearing. She turns around, watching Jemma, who’s still hovering at the edge, and then flops to the ground, spreading out in the grass.

Slowly, Jemma makes her way over. She gazes at Daisy, surrounded by green, bathed in sunlight, her hair forming a halo around her head.

Daisy smiles when Jemma approaches, though her eyes are closed. She pats the ground next to her.

With a final glance around the clearing, Jemma sits, slipping out her ponytail before laying in the grass next to Daisy. She stares up at the blue, blue sky, the sun warming her down to her bones, and she smiles.

“This is nice, right?” Daisy asks, eyes still closed.

“Yeah,” Jemma agrees. “It is.”

Jemma rests her hands out to her sides, closing her eyes, letting the warmth seep into her, listening to the sound of birds, the distant trickling of running water, to Daisy’s steady breathing beside her. Something feels … different, about her. Not in a bad way, not in the way she’d felt different once she returned from the planet. She feels … connected to everything. Like this whole forest is an extension of her, the trees her own bones, the grass her veins, the flowers her pumping blood. She feels the breeze tickle over her own skin just as she feels it ruffle the leaves of the trees, roll through the grass.

It’s … peaceful. (She’d forgotten what that felt like.)

Daisy shifts, and rests one of her hands over Jemma’s own, fingers lightly curling around each other.

Jemma opens her eyes, looking down at their hands, and can’t help the grin that spreads across her face, sees the grin that’s already spread on Daisy’s. She’s so grateful that Daisy came with her. That Daisy is here with her, that she’s helping her through all of this. All Daisy’s soft words and gentle touches, her earnestness and eagerness to help … Jemma can’t imagine doing this without her. Something warm blooms in her chest. (It feels a lot like love.)

And then something … actually blooms. A little white flower crawls up from between their loosely clasped fingers, growing and stretching itself toward the sun. Jemma lets out a breath, and Daisy opens her eyes, following her gaze.

“Jem,” Daisy breathes. “Did you do that?”

Jemma looks at Daisy, studies the wonder on her face, and the flower grows taller. “Yeah,” Jemma says, “I did.”

(Incident five.)

Daisy laughs joyfully, eyes so wide and full of love that it takes Jemma’s breath away. Jemma plucks the flower from the ground, rolls over so she’s right next to Daisy, propped up on her elbows, looking down at her, and tucks the flower behind Daisy’s ear.

She smiles. “ _Bellis perennis_ ,” she says. “Common daisy.”

“How’d you do it?” Daisy asks.

“I was just … happy,” Jemma states. And then adds, shyly, a blush lighting her cheeks, “I was thinking about you.”

Daisy smiles, that blinding smile that always makes Jemma feel like melting, and gently tugs on Jemma’s shoulder until Jemma folds herself onto her, her head pillowed on Daisy’s shoulder, one arm coming to rest over Daisy’s middle.

Daisy draws patterns on Jemma’s back with the tips of her fingers, one thumb stroking slowly over Jemma’s arm. Jemma sighs, but it’s a happy sigh, a contented sigh. She could stay like this forever.

(Incident five isn’t so bad.)

-

Daisy bounces into her room while Jemma is curled up on the bed reading a book.

“I want to try something,” Daisy says, breathlessly giddy.

Jemma marks her page. “Oh? What’s that?”

Daisy swings her arms impatiently. “Come on, come on!”

“Alright, I’m coming, I’m coming,” Jemma says, setting the book aside and getting off the bed.

Daisy bounds back into the living room ahead of her, Jemma following at a slower pace. She stops when she enters and sees what’s on the coffee table. Branches. Blackened, still oozing.

“Daisy …” Jemma murmurs.

“You did it, what if you can bring them back, too?” Daisy says, eyes wide.

Jemma blinks, brows furrowing. “What?”

“Yeah, what if, like, you had the power to destroy stuff, but you could bring it back to life? You made that daisy grow yesterday, who’s to say you can’t do this?”

Jemma rubs at her elbow. “I can’t control it …”

“I know, that’s why we’re gonna make you happy.”

“… How?” Jemma asks, looking at her skeptically.

Daisy plops onto the couch and pats the space in front of her. Slowly, Jemma makes her way to the cushion opposite her.

“What’s your happiest childhood memory?” Daisy asks, without preamble.

“Oh.” Jemma raises her thumb to chew the nail between her teeth while she thinks. She’s a little nervous about this, she has to say, maybe more than she should be. Daisy just seems so excited, she’d hate to disappoint her. (And there’s still a nagging little part of her that says she could never bring life back to anything once she’s damaged it, too damaged herself to do anything about it.) “Well, that’s hard.”

“Just the thing that stands out the most.”

“Well, there was the one time …”

“Yeah?” Daisy prods, already smiling.

Jemma smiles as well. “I was eleven, and my family went on holiday to Hastings for a month during the summer. Both my parents are professors, so they had the summer off. We stayed in my aunt’s cottage, this little place tucked away in the woods right outside of town. Well, I was bored pretty quickly, being a kid, and not understanding the concept of appreciating the scenery just yet. So my dad gave me one of his leather-bound journals, and gave me the task of cataloguing every plant and animal I could find in the area. I took him up on the challenge, so I’d spend hours every day running through the woods by myself, drawing everything I could find.

“And one day I stumbled across this little creek, and I followed it, and it led right past this circle of trees. They were growing so closely together they were almost fused, but there was a gap so you could get in, and you could see right up to the sky when you were sitting in the middle of them. I spent so much time in there, drawing all the animals I had seen during the day. And then at night I’d go home and label everything I’d found with the proper Latin names, which my parents would teach me. After the summer was over, my dad took the journal back, and he’d show it to all his biology classes. He was so proud of that journal.”

Jemma can’t help but grin as she recounts the memory, remembering the reckless way she’d crashed through the woods, unable to contain any part of herself, not sure why she should. She’d been a polite enough child in the grasp of civilization, but out there, where no one could see, she’d really been free. Just a girl, living.

Daisy doesn’t even look at the branches, her full focus on Jemma. “That sounds really nice.”

“Yeah.” Jemma nods. “It was.”

“What about at the Academy?” Daisy asks. “What’s your favorite memory from then?”

“I pulled this prank on Fitz,” Jemma says immediately, a giggle already bubbling up in her throat. “Oh gosh, it was so mean.”

Daisy’s eyes sparkle. “Tell me.”

“Well, in lab I’d been working on this adhesive, right? You only had to use a little, but it was very strong. Well, I smuggled some out, and with the help of some students from Operations, I- uh—” Jemma chuckles, one hand covering her mouth. “I turned everything in Fitz’s room upside-down.”

“Like … on the ceiling?”

Jemma nods quickly, nose scrunching. “Everything. Desk, bed, his book bag, all of it. Completely upside-down.”

“Damn,” Daisy says appreciatively. “What’d he do?”

“He was _furious_. Absolutely lethal. Ranted for ages about how a man’s room should be his sanctuary, how I’d betrayed something by disturbing his sanctum sanctorum. How I, of all people, should be on his side in this. He did eventually admit it was a good prank, though.”

Daisy scoffs, shaking her head. “That’s brutal, Jemma. Actually super proud of you for that one.”

“I did let him stay with me until the adhesive wore off, so he really had nothing to complain about. My room was far nicer.”

Daisy watches her, a smile tugging on the edges of her lips. “What about now?” she asks. “What’s your favorite thing in your life right now?”

“My family,” Jemma says immediately, looking down to her lap, smiling. “You, and Fitz, and May, and Coulson. I wouldn’t be able to do any of this without you all. And I just … appreciate, so much, all you do for me, and how much you support me. I’ve never been so close to a group of people before like I am with you.”

Daisy looks away, and then her smile grows wider. “Jem,” she says, nodding at the coffee table.

Nerves forgotten, her chest warm, Jemma looks over. On the table, the branches—formerly lifeless, black masses—have regained color. The bark is a deep brown, the structure reestablished and strong. On the edges, new growths of leaves are sprouting out, growing as she watches.

(She did that. Something that was dead, and broken, and she fixed it. With her own body, her own mind. Chaos she herself had caused, healed by the right words, the right feelings. Life, restored.

She never thought she had it in her.)

Laughing, breathless, she launches herself at Daisy.

(Incident six.)

-

But the good days don’t mean the bad days have gone away.

The sun had hidden away behind the clouds sometime the afternoon before, and never reemerged. She’d felt it like a bad omen as soon as she’d woken up, realizing her room was darker than it should’ve been for the hour. She hasn’t yet gotten out of bed, frozen in place. Her veins are filled with ice, her limbs sluggish. Her heart is beating painfully slow. (She can barely feel any of it.)

“Breakfast!” Daisy calls from the kitchen. But Jemma doesn’t move, doesn’t respond. She can’t think, can barely remember to blink every once in a while. She’s just staring out the window, not even feeling like a person.

After a few minutes, Daisy knocks, then peeks into her room.

“Jem?”

Jemma closes her eyes, wishing this all would go away.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

She hears Daisy enter fully, but she still doesn’t open her eyes, or move, or even acknowledge Daisy’s presence. Daisy comes to sit on the bed, resting a hand on Jemma’s hip.

“Is it the sun?”

Jemma doesn’t move. She can’t even answer.

“It’s supposed to storm later, that’s why it’s so dark. It’ll be better by tomorrow.”

The thought of spending all day trapped like this makes Jemma release a shaky whine.

“Do you want to come watch TV or something? Would that help?”

Slowly, Jemma manages to shake her head. She’s not sure she can even handle staying conscious, the thought of trying to focus on anything has her mentally running for the hills. (The dark, sunless hills …)

“Okay. Give me a second, I’ll be right back.”

Daisy gets up and leaves the room, but she leaves the door open. Jemma can hear her puttering around in the kitchen; turning off the stove, scraping something out of a pan, opening and closing the fridge. Then she’s back. Jemma still doesn’t open her eyes. She hears Daisy pull the curtains closed, flick on the overhead light, click on the bedside lamp, making the room as bright as possible. Then she climbs in behind Jemma, scoots under the covers, and presses up against Jemma’s back. She wraps one arm around her, nuzzling against her shoulder blade.

“We’ll stay here as long as you need.”

Jemma lets out a little sob, grabbing onto Daisy’s arm. Daisy holds her for a long time.

(The next day, when the sun is back and she’s able to move again, able to go outside and breathe again, she’ll discover the camellia bushes around the cabin have wilted. Incident seven.)

-

Jemma stares at the trail, hovering by the back of the cabin.

(She said she’d be fine. It was only a few days by herself. They’d needed Daisy, so Daisy had gone, but Jemma had assured them she’d be fine on her own. They needed the whole team on this mission, and Jemma hadn’t wanted to get stuck with a stranger. It had been a whole week since she’d wilted the camellias, and she hadn’t had any more incidents. She’d even checked the weather report before Daisy left—sunshine, all the way through.

She stayed inside the first two days, but she was getting antsy. She wanted to take a walk, even if that meant going out by herself. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea, but she honestly was doing better. She’d have to try eventually. And Dr. Garner said she could call him if anything happened.)

She takes a deep breath, pushing it out slow, chest quivering just slightly, sweaty palms rubbing up and down her pants. She tells herself that this won’t play out like last time. She’s not sure if she has control of that, really, but this is what she tells herself all the same.

She starts off down the trail, but soon gets another idea. Tentatively, she pushes her way into the thick of the trees, slowly making her way through the underbrush. Her sense of direction was honed during all those months on the planet, so she doesn’t doubt she’ll be able to find her way back to the cabin. And, even if it wasn’t, she’s breaking enough twigs and branches that she’d be able to follow her path back fairly easily.

She continues like this, pushing through the trees, just wandering whichever way is easiest, for a while, until there’s a small rustle from a bush nearby.

Jemma freezes, and then forcibly relaxes. It was a small sound, which means a small creature. Nothing to be afraid of. And anyway, she’d planned for this.

It turns out that it’s a rabbit, snuffling around the ground looking for food. It stops when it sees Jemma, watching her, but not fleeing. Jemma, slow as she can move, takes the bag off her back, pulls out her journal and a pen, and crouches on the ground. And then she starts drawing.

She’s able to fill most of the page before the rabbit gets bored and wanders away. Jemma looks down at the sketches she’s done, and the memories flood her.

(Not memories of the planet. Memories of her childhood, rampaging through the woods. The joy, the freedom.)

Something buzzes in her chest. A grin pulls itself onto her face. She shoves the journal back in her bag, slings it over her shoulders, and then she takes off, crashing through the trees, laughing uproariously, no one around to hear her, no one around to stop her. She sprints in random directions, climbs over fallen logs, jumps as high as she can over bushes.

(Just a girl, living.)

Eventually she tires herself out, but it’s the good kind of tired. The satisfied, bone-weary kind. The kind that was voluntary. She finds the trail quickly enough, but instead of heading back toward the cabin, she makes her way further up the trail and to the clearing.

It’s a little cold out today, a little windy, but it feels nice, makes her remember she’s here, and alive. The sun is shining bright, and that’s what matters.

She settles down on the green grass, and pulls her journal out again. Then she draws. Not what she’d seen that day, not the plants and animals of Earth. She draws the bugbears, the kobolds, the pernicons. And then she labels them with their names. Their proper names, the ones she gave them.

It must be hours that she’s out there, though the time passes quickly. The sun is lower in the sky when she looks back up, though not low enough that it’s started to get dark. She should probably head back to the cabin.

She should head back. But she just sits, gazing at the line of trees that leads back into the forest, back to the trail.

(It’s like she was waiting. Like she knew. Because it doesn’t surprise her as much as it should when a figure appears from the band of trees.)

“Thought I’d find you here,” Daisy calls, stopping at the edge of the clearing.

Jemma doesn’t respond, just smiles, so relieved to see her. Smiles wider and wider until the grin might just reach from ear to ear. Her chest feels so full of adoration that she might burst from it, just looking at Daisy, who’s grinning at her just as wide. She’d missed her so much while she was gone, she can’t even describe it.

“Happy to see me, huh?” Daisy teases, giving a pointed look around the clearing.

Jemma looks around as well. Flowers—red, blue, orange, but mostly clean, white daisies—have burst forth from the ground all over the clearing. The whole clearing is an explosion of color, of movement, as the flowers unfurl their petals and reach toward the sky. Jemma laughs joyously. (Incident eight.)

“I missed you,” she admits, and Daisy ducks her head, blushing.

“I missed you too,” Daisy says, making her way over to Jemma and sitting beside her. She runs her fingers over the flowers around her, face soft with awe. She looks over at Jemma, smiling, and then notices the journal still propped in her lap. “Whatcha doing?”

Jemma quietly gives over the journal, leaning back on her hands. The breeze is making her shiver, but she doesn’t mind. She doesn’t mind anything, now that Daisy is back.

Daisy flips open the journal, finding the first page filled with sketches of the rabbit. “Jeez, Jem, these are really good. Why didn’t I know you still draw?”

“Don’t really much anymore,” Jemma says. “Thought I’d pick it back up.”

Daisy gazes at the sketches for a while longer, finger tracing the edges of the ink, and then she flips the page and freezes. “Are these …?”

“From the planet,” Jemma confirms.

“ _Bugbears_ ,” Daisy reads, peering closely at the pages full of bugbear sketches. “Super scary looking. I can see why you’d be afraid of them.”

Jemma doesn’t respond, and Daisy flips through more and more pages, listing off the names as she reads them, making comments. Jemma goes back and forth between looking at the pages and looking at Daisy’s face, memorizing the line of her nose, the way her lips purse when she’s concentrated.

“ _Pernicon._ ” She traces the name. “They don’t look so bad. Kind of like grasshoppers. How big are they?”

“About the size of a basketball.”

“Oh … never mind.”

“They’re very fast,” Jemma tells her. “Hard to catch.”

“Why were you trying to catch them?”

“Well, I had to eat something, didn’t I?”

Daisy’s nose scrunches. “What did they taste like?”

“Vaguely fishy. Not good raw.”

Daisy sticks her tongue out with a little “ _bleh_ ” sound. When she gets to the last page with drawings, she closes the journal, and sets it on the ground next to her.

“Those are all really good. Like, really good. You should try to draw more.”

“Will you kiss me?” Jemma asks abruptly, suddenly breathless.

Daisy turns to her, blinking. “What?”

“Will you … Do you want to? Kiss me?”

(She hasn’t misread this situation, right? She knows she’s a good looking woman, she knows Daisy is attracted to her, she’s seen her looking. But, has she read more into this than is actually there? All those lingering touches, they didn’t mean nothing, right? She had a lot of time to think while Daisy was gone, and in that time she’d come to a very big and very simple conclusion.)

Daisy’s mouth gapes, and the nervous tension builds in Jemma’s stomach. “Is that an invitation?” Daisy asks.

Quickly, Jemma nods.

“Then yeah. Hell yeah.”

Then Daisy leans forward, pulling Jemma in by the back of her neck, and presses her lips firmly against Jemma’s own. The tension drains out of Jemma immediately, and she melts against Daisy, sighing against her mouth, pressing closer. Jemma’s dizzy, in the best possible way. After a few moments, Daisy pulls back, and Jemma is about to protest, but Daisy just kisses her again, one hand curling against her neck, the other coming up to cradle Jemma’s cheek. And then she kisses her again, and again. Peppering little kisses to the sides of her mouth, her cheeks, her jaw, the tip of her nose, coming back to her lips between each one.

Jemma lets out a breathy chuckle, says, “okay, you know what—” and presses in until Daisy is leaning back, settling down against the ground, looking up at Jemma with a grin. Jemma moves to straddle Daisy’s middle, knees on either side of her hips, and holds Daisy’s face with both hands, leaning down to press a firm kiss to her mouth. She moves one hand down, scraping her fingernails gently down the side of Daisy’s neck, which makes Daisy groan into her mouth. Jemma takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, running her tongue along Daisy’s bottom lip until she parts her lips. Jemma kisses her enthusiastically, the way she used to do everything.

The wind tickles up Jemma’s back, and she shivers, but Daisy just pulls her closer, surges up as Jemma presses down. It feels like forever that they stay like that, or no time at all, Jemma can’t tell. She’s just lost in the feeling, all of her senses focused like lasers on the feeling of Daisy’s lips against hers, of Daisy’s front pressed warmly against her own, on Daisy’s hand as she creeps it up the back of Jemma’s shirt.

So she doesn’t even notice anything has happened until Daisy freezes, pulling back. Jemma is about to ask what’s wrong, but that’s when she feels it herself. A gentle squeezing, all over her body.

She looks back, and barks a laugh. Moss and tendrils of roots have encircled them both, creeping up over their legs, around Jemma’s back. (Is this incident nine, or an extension of eight, she wonders.)

She looks back at Daisy, who’s just staring up at her, eyes blown, a dopey grin on her face, panting gently.

Then an idea pops into Jemma’s head. “Daisy,” she says, eyes wide, grinning.

“What?”

“Come on. Come on!” She starts trying to wriggle free, and ends up having to twist around and pull the plants off of them both. But they manage to extract themselves, and Jemma grabs up her bag with one hand, shoving the journal into it, and grabs Daisy’s hand with the other.

She pulls her back to the trail, almost running, practically skipping, and then through the woods until they get to it: the circle of trees she’d destroyed, laying broken and decayed in monochrome. She pulls Daisy to the middle of the ring, then stops, taking in the damage. She hadn’t been back to this spot, before now.

Shaking her head, she turns around. “Kiss me,” she says, and so Daisy does, sidling up close, one hand on either side of Jemma’s face.

Jemma can feel it, when it starts to happen. The regrowth. It makes the kissing a little difficult, after that, because she can’t stop smiling, which makes Daisy laugh, but her plan works anyway. By the time they’re done, the fallen logs have been covered in a blanket of green. Grass, moss, speckled with flowers. The trees are still knocked down, but they’ll regrow, Jemma knows. They just gave it a head start. (Incident nine? Ten?)

“It’s getting dark,” Daisy observes.

“We should head back,” Jemma says, but she’s still smiling, not even worrying about the encroaching darkness, just pleased with her victories. All the personal triumphs she had today. She can’t wait to tell Fitz all about everything that’s happened. ( _Everything_ , no matter how embarrassed it makes him.)

They make their way back to the trail, and then Daisy crouches down.

“Hop on,” she says, and Jemma laughs, but she does. Daisy piggybacks her all the way back to the cabin, humming a tune Jemma doesn’t recognize.

When they get back, Jemma hops off, tosses her bag onto the couch, and then takes Daisy’s hand, pulling her back to her bedroom. Daisy pauses in the doorway, leveling her with a serious look.

“Are you sure?”

Jemma nods, grinning. “I am.”

“Good enough for me,” Daisy says, and then picks Jemma up and deposits her on the bed, climbing on top of her as Jemma falls back against the pillows, kissing a line up Jemma’s neck as Jemma laughs, fingers tangling in Daisy’s hair.

(She’s not sure what incident it is, anymore. She’ll loose count in that bed over the next few days. In any case, it seems that even the wood of the walls of the cabin count as plant life, still. Flowers will sprout from the walls themselves, over and over again, more and more, until you can’t walk in through the front door of the cabin without smelling them.)

-

“How long was it?”

Jemma had said she was ready to talk about this. The giving up hope. Still, the question makes her blow out a shaky breath.

“Two months.”

“Why then?”

“That’s when my phone died. When I finally felt like I had no connection back to all of you.”

Daisy watches her softly. “And you really thought you were never coming back?”

Jemma nods, looking down to her hands, thumbs sweeping back and forth over her fingers.

“I can’t even imagine,” Daisy says, “keeping on living after that.”

“Survival is encoded into our DNA, wired in our brains. It’s been at the forefront of every evolutionary leap in this planet’s history. You’d be surprised what a person would be willing to survive through.”

Daisy shakes her head. “I don’t know if I could, even still. How’d you manage it?”

“When you think you’re living just for yourself, you come up with ways of coping. There was this man—a boy, really—who hitchhiked his way to the Alaskan wilderness and lived there for months, in this abandoned bus. He ended up getting stuck out there, by himself. He wrote in a journal to cope.”

“What happened to him?”

“He ended up dying, all alone. One of the last things he wrote was, ‘happiness only real when shared’. I thought about that a lot, when I was on the planet, whenever I’d have any sort of victory. And it did feel like that. Like whatever I felt wasn’t really real, if no one else was there to witness it. Like the observer effect in quantum mechanics.”

“What did you do to cope?”

“Well, I- I suppose it’s rather silly, but- I’d talk to all of you. Pretend you could hear me, somehow.”

Daisy furrows her brows. “I don’t think that’s silly.”

Jemma shrugs, presses a hand against her neck, then drops it.

“What would you talk about?”

Jemma can feel her throat tightening, but she pushes through it. “Depended on who I was talking to. I’d bounce ideas off of Fitz, or tell him about my day. I’d tell him when I discovered a new species, or if I ate a new food. I’d tell May whenever I survived a close encounter with the bugbears. I killed one once—stabbed it and pushed it off a cliff. So I told her all about it, I thought she’d be proud of me. Coulson, I would talk to when I needed advice. I even talked to Bobbi and Hunter sometimes. Trip, once.”

Daisy glances down, then peeks up, asking shyly, “Did you ever talk to me?”

Jemma nods. “I- I talked to you when—” Her voice breaks, tears flooding her eyes. “-whenever I needed someone to cry to.” She huffs a wet laugh, looking away, clenching her arms around herself. “I talked to you fairly often.”

Daisy watches her, and Jemma swears she’s teary-eyed herself. “Did it help?”

Jemma takes a shaking breath, and the tears spill down her cheeks. She raises a hand to wipe them away, but more just take their place. “Ca-Can we stop?” she asks, throat burning. “I-I’m sorry, I just—”

“It’s okay,” Daisy says. “We can stop, it’s okay.”

They both look toward the flowers, but they haven’t wilted.

(Jemma can feel it at the edge of her senses—the decay. It’s like discovering a new emotion, a new feeling in her chest that she can only sense, not describe.

And though the flowers haven’t wilted, and though she really has no excuse except that she wants to, Jemma crawls over and curls onto Daisy’s lap anyway. Daisy holds her tight, her lips against Jemma’s hair.)

“I’m back,” Jemma says, like she’s trying to convince herself, convince them both. “I’m back, and I’m not going anywhere.”

(Because she’s done it long enough—the running. She’s ran and she’s ran, and she’s tired. She won’t run anymore.)

(There’s no incident that day.)

**Author's Note:**

> thank yall for sticking with me :') i know this was long but it's been my baby this past week and i hope yall enjoyed


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